


Salt, Sea and Rust

by Val Royeaux (valroyeaux)



Category: Love Live! School Idol Project, Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: F/F, mostly just bitter sex, vaguely pacific rim au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 04:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13826862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valroyeaux/pseuds/Val%20Royeaux
Summary: “I wish I could hate you.”Kanan digs her nails into the skin between her elbows, prays Mari will go away.





	Salt, Sea and Rust

**Author's Note:**

> a part of something I wrote for a self-indulgent Pacific Rim AU I have with a friend. There's not a lot of Pacific Rim in this though, just a lot of bitter and desperate smut.

When the crowds have cleared and the adrenaline has run the last of its course, Mari finds Kanan. The barracks are all rust and creaky metal. When Mari knocks on her door it bounces off every corner of the room; the sound finds Kanan as much as she wishes she could hide from it.

An agonizing three minutes have passed, and Mari continues to knock. Kanan pulls herself to the door with an unnecessary amount of exhaustion and does the same when opening the door. Mari stands there—back straight, smile pleasant, like her knuckles aren’t pink from her persistent and rhythmic knocking.

Tap, tap tap, tap, tap tap, tap.

“Can I come in?” Mari asks, but she’s already swept passed Kanan and into the room.

“Hm, this room is very distinctly you.” Mari circles the perimeter, examining the government issued hygiene products on the dresser and the orange dust that seems to coat every surface. Kanan leans against the creaky desk in the corner, arms crossed.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve made it your own, obviously!” Mari says it with a smile, and Kanan’s frown grows deeper still.

She hasn’t added anything to it except what they’ve given her—the room is devoid of personality, totally unlived in.

Mari isn’t making small talk, she’s said what she’s said with that very observation in mind.

“What do you want Mari? I’m busy.”

Mari stops just then, and she takes her time turning to face Kanan. When she does she folds her hands neatly at her front, voice sweet and smooth.

“To catch up silly, to talk—we are, drift compatible after all.”

It’s been six years and the only thing that has changed about Mari is that she’s grown meaner.

There are more angles to her face now, but it still retains that soft roundness to it that makes her look younger than her years. She’s dressed in white linens, a long dress—simple but undoubtedly expensive. It’s modest but hugs every inch of her body, and Kanan can’t help but notice just how well she’s grown into her figure; elegant and provocative all at once. Mari has grown into all that she’d always wished to be in a world where who she was meant to be no longer matters.

The little hair loop is gone, her hair, a bit longer now, sits in a complicated but loose bun that hangs around her neck. It’s strange to see her without it.

“I’m going to ask the commander to deploy me when the next batch of recruits get here.” Is what she says, because it’s not Kanan’s way to say what she means the first time someone asks. Mari knows all too well, her smile grows harder, eyes flashing quietly with anger.

“Of course. Of course, of course, of course!” Mari pulls the pale blue shawl that hangs around her arms closer and crosses her arms. When she scoffs a bit of her hair gets caught in her face, and Kanan hates herself for wanting to reach over and tuck it behind Mari’s ear.

Of course, she hates Mari more for putting her in this position in the first place.

Kanan doesn’t dignify any of Mari’s antics with a response. The commander has only recently freed them from training—Kanan was barely out of the shower before the knocking began (and she has to wonder, and she wouldn’t be surprised, if Mari was standing around the corner waiting for her to come back from the bathroom). She runs her hand through her wet hair and makes herself comfortable on her bed, hoping Mari will tire herself out from having a conversation with herself.  

“Hey, Kanan.”  

Kanan doesn’t look up—busies herself with knots and split ends. Her fingers pull them apart and fray the ends, untangled but with a cost.  She hears the quiet sound of fabric make its way across the room, and then Mari is kneeling at Kanan’s feet, hands lifting up her face so that she has to look up.

“Do you still hate me that much?”

Kanan is unresponsive still, but this time out of stunned paralysis. Mari’s hands are soft on her skin, her eyes big and sad and familiar even now (and her mind is traitorous as always, wandering back to a few hours before this when they’d been in that big room with the mats and other recruits, gasping for breath and pressed close with nothing but wood swords and discipline keeping the space between them). 

“I can’t help but wonder—” Mari’s voice is barely more than a whisper, thumb rubbing slow circles into Kanan’s skin. “What I did wrong, what I could do better.”

It’s been a long time (since Kanan has been held, has felt another person, has been acknowledged by another person; all of these things had always been rare for her, even moreso with Mari gone, even more after that when the world became what it is now).

She misses the beach, she misses Mari’s songs and Dia’s chiding, she misses when there was a future (not for her, never for her—but for everyone else at least). But Uchiura is gone, buried ten thousand leagues beneath the ocean. Mari’s hotel, Dia’s mansion, their school, their friends, all the places that held all the feelings Kanan could never bear to express—gone, vanished, never to be rebuilt (because Kanan’s made sure of that, bolted the nail into all those coffins even before the Kaiju emerged from the mouth of the pacific ocean).

“I wonder about all those things.” Mari is gently tilting Kanan forward without ever pulling at all. She has a hand under Kanan’s chin, and that’s all it takes, the softest of touches and Kanan is leaning into her like a charmed magnet. “—and I wonder when you’ll stop being such a spineless coward.”

The clock strikes midnight and the fairy godmother’s spell breaks. Mari is not a prince, Mari is not even a witch. She is a distant moment, a fleeting feeling, far away from here, far away from who Kanan is now.

But she can’t help but be a little angry, you know?

“Everything I did—” Kanan breaks free, grasps Mari’s wrist and yanks it away. Mari gasps, jerks to the side as she tries to pull herself free from Kanan’s grip. But Kanan is resolute in her purpose, in making Mari listen. She is too old to be patient, full of too many regrets and unexpressed spite to be kind.

“All of it—it was for you, because _you_ were too afraid to leave. You weren’t going to get what you wanted Mari, and then when you didn’t you were going to blame yourself because that’s what you like to do, be a martyr when no one asked you to.”

Mari continues to struggle, trying to pull Kanan’s fingers away with her nails. There is something so persistent and scared about her—like Kanan’s grip is burning away at her skin, like if she hears anymore she’ll never be the same. Like she doesn’t want to hear any of it at all.

It just makes her angrier. She pulls roughly on Mari’s arm, forcing her up onto her knees.

“Listen to me.” Kanan’s voice cracks. Mari looks like she’s going to cry.

Kanan realizes she doesn’t actually have anything else to say.

So, still and quiet they stay; Mari on the verge of tears, trembling in Kanan’s grasp and Kanan shaking, heart beating—rapid, angry, and wild. Her skin tingles with something more than that—and she hates herself and Mari for that too. 

History is doomed to repeat itself—fallen empires, doomed civilizations and romantic comedies have taught them all as much. Mari is weak, a creature of obsession. Kanan just as much, but far more risk averse, far more unwilling to take the good with the bad. It’s what’s kept her safe all these years.

It’s what’s kept her so far away all these years.

But that’s the thing with the two of them; Mari is unyielding, and Kanan has never known how to do anything but yield. Kanan runs because despite her walls being many, they crumble all too easily. All it takes is one crack, one slip up, one peephole into all that she tries to keep hidden away for it all to come crumbling down.

Mari is not gentle when she pushes forward, pulls herself into Kanan’s lap and pulls Kanan into her mouth. Mari has broken years of stalemate and Kanan is far too weak an individual, far too warm in Mari’s grasp to go back to their cold war.

At least not in this moment.

There is an unashamed desperation in how they pull at each other and push themselves on one another. She can feel Mari’s heartbeat through the fabric of her clothes, hear every quiet whimper loud and clear as though they’re in the Jaeger right now and Mari’s every thought is being broadcasted through her ears. But somehow it is still not close enough. Every part of Kanan is warm and wanting—there have been others in six years, but everything about Mari is untouched, unfulfilled. The stuff of late night dreams and her teenage imagination.

Mari pulls away, kissing the corner of her mouth, peppering Kanan’s skin with the ghost of her lips as she trails down her neck and presses her hips against Kanan’s. When she finds that spot; the skin at the bottom of her neck, she sucks on it—goes out of her way to make the most obscene sound when she does. Even despite her want and the fact that Mari’s hands have already made their way underneath her shirt Kanan finds the time to be annoyed.

“A hickey? Seriously? We’re not teenagers anymore Mari.”

“Shut up.” She bites down on the skin, hard. Kanan groans, angry and embarrassed that Mari’s mouth feels so good on her touch deprived skin.

Mari’s mouth has stopped roaming, and in its stead her hands explore all that lies underneath her shirt. It’s nothing new for Mari—she’s never had much shame and she’s always had wandering hands. But Kanan has always had self-control (and has never had the ability to play off these things the way Mari has) and now that her hands have finally found their way to Mari’s backside, squeezing and kneading her through the fabric of her dress, she wants desperately to get underneath it all.

It takes her a bit to get the words out of her throat, Mari’s hands are warm on her breasts and Kanan finds herself unsatisfied no matter how she presses herself against Mari.

“If you don’t take this off I’m—” Kanan is cut short by a gasp. Mari presses a thumb against Kanan’s nipple and then pulls on it again, smiling at the reaction she illicit.

“Oh? Did I finally find your off switch? I always knew these two gals were powerful.”

“Okay—that’s it.” With little effort but quite a bit of force, she pulls Mari’s legs around her and holds her up before pushing her down onto the bed. Mari gasps, stunned for a moment, before the grin returns to her face once more.

Kanan tries to pretend like it doesn’t bother her.

“I was saying—if you don’t take this off I’m going to get it off one way or another.” The smile drops from Mari’s face almost instantly.

“God Kanan this is cashmere and Egyptian cotton. They don’t even make cashmere anymore. Egypt doesn’t even exist anymore!”

Kanan scowls.

“Egypt wasn’t just knocked off the face of the earth you idiot.” Mari pays her no mind, she pushes Kanan back a little and sits up.

“Fine, fine. Just wait a second you brute.”

Mari stands on her knees and grabs her dress by the bottom, rolling it up slowly over her shoulders.

Kanan has been with other women, and even despite that she finds herself suddenly a bit horrified and horribly embarrassed by the whole thing. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen (in general and with Mari), but it’s different now.

She’s undoubtedly red as can be and Mari grins.

“Well? What happened to all that candor from before Kaa-nan!”

And like they are children again, resolving all that plagues them with fists and scratching. Kanan all but lunges forward, pulling Mari down once again.

“Figures, even during a war you’d wear something like this regularly.” It’s barely a mutter but despite her bashfulness she can’t look away. Mari is all white French lace and ornate underthings. Her hands run down the side of Mari’s breasts, across her stomach, and then to her thighs, fingertips jittering as they finally make contact with something she spent her adolescence dreaming of.

Mari shivers, smiling still.

“Oh? Who says I wear these every day? Maybe I wore them just _for_ today.” 

The implication is not lost on Kanan, and what’s worse is that it’s very like Mari for that to be true but it’s also very like Mari for this to be a strategic lie. Regardless, she bristles, and presses a palm between Mari’s legs in retaliation.

Mari squeaks, and goes red the moment she’s heard herself. Her hands come up around her mouth, even though the sounds already left her lips.

Kanan is smug.

“Maybe you should be more careful about what you say.” Her fingers pull back the side of Mari’s underwear ever so slightly, she strokes the folds of flesh with her fingers and watches Mari writhe.

She has no doubt that this is far from the first time for Mari—but she can tell, it’s been a _long time_ for her too.

“I hate you.” When Kanan says it, it comes out like a realization. Like she has just discovered this fact herself. Mari looks up at her, taken aback by the sudden declaration; she looks a bit like she wants to cry again.

Kanan pulls Mari’s underwear down and eventually off with both hands; gentle despite everything.

“I hate, that even now—when the world is ending and I’ve met all these people, you’re still the prettiest person I’ve ever met.”

Her palms part Mari’s thighs—

“Kanan—” She tries to sit up, but Kanan pulls on her legs so that she falls back onto her back. She pulls her closer and pulls her legs apart again.

“I hate you for leaving—even though I told you too, I know. But I still hate you.” She kisses the inside of Mari’s thighs, soft and kind, feeling an affection that she’d locked away in the deepest part of herself years ago. Her lips make a trail from her thighs to Mari’s center, biting the skin softly after each kiss.

Mari pulls her legs against Kanan and she can feel her shudder all around her. Mari is loud—and Kanan has to press her own legs together to keep it all from spilling over.

She hates herself for being overwhelmed by how pretty Mari’s voice is, by how much she loves that every touch and feeling is and will leave a mark. She hates Mari more, for still being so beautiful in every way.

It’s a cliché, but Mari tastes good, she smells good.

It’s a mix of everything—the flowery lotion Mari uses, the way her voice is agonized, euphoric and pleading all at once when she calls Kanan’s name (and nothing but Kanan’s name), the way she pulls her legs so tightly around her that Kanan thinks she might suffocate right here.

When it’s over, Mari cries out, one last strangled ‘Kanan’ before her legs slack and the shuddering stops. Kanan lifts herself up, skims her lips all the way up Mari’s body before finding her mouth. She kisses her, tongue, teeth and everything—finds something so satisfying with getting to taste so many parts of Mari all at once.

When she pulls away, Kanan is more tightly coiled than she’s ever been, but more satisfied than she could ever imagine. The two cancel each other out, and leave her feeling empty to her core.

Funny, how that works.

Mari is quiet for quite some time. Kanan does not look at her; legs crossed, hands knotted together— she looks down, like a child who will be punished if they don’t look properly remorseful.

Mari finally stirs, she turns away, and when she brushes back her tears with the back of her hand Kanan pretends like she didn’t see.

And when she speaks Kanan pretends like she doesn’t hear her voice crack.

“I wish I could hate you.”

Kanan digs her nails into the skin between her elbows, prays Mari will go away.

“But I guess, this is what I deserve.”

Mari faces her finally—hair disheveled, face pink and ruddy—

Smiling all the same.


End file.
